Tom Thumb, the redoubtable little general who has been on exhibition before the public for very many years, was in the city the other day inspecting the furnishing of the car in which he is to travel with the Barnum show during the coming summer.

He and his diminutive little wife walked about the car, which was in the process of remodeling, and selected the spot which they deemed would be most comfortable and convenient during their five or six life months on the rail.

The party, which included Mr. Bailey, one of the proprietors of the show, and several gentlemen who were friends of the visitors, settled down for a chat, the General indulging in a number of reminiscences of his travels in various parts of the world, stories which have been told again and again in various prints.

The principal talker was, of course, the General, who, as he sat in a common chair, into which he had to climb, looked much like a four or five year old boy, save for the tuft of hair on his chin. He was busy smoking a cigar, longer and seemingly larger than the tiny hand that grasped it. He was well bundled up in a huge Ulster, and on his head wore a Scotch cap.

Finally the conversation lagged a bit and the General alluded to the fact that he was again to work for the man who first brought him fame and fortune, the original Barnum.

"Is the old gentleman getting about yet?" asked the General.

"And how's his wife?" continued the General.

"Well, when last I saw her. You've met her, haven't you General?"

"Oh, yes; often. And that reminds me of a singular fact. You remember that Mrs. Barnum is quite a good-sized lady, as big as half a dozen of me, bigger in fact. You know she is an Englishwoman and a good many years younger than Barnum. Well, when I was in England Barnum became an acquaintance with her father, and he took me up to the house to call.

Barnum's wife was then a little bit of a baby at that time, lying in a wee bit of a cradle and little thought, because she couldn't think at all, that the genial young man who lifted her from her cradle would eventually become her husband. It didn't strike me as a possibility, for Mrs. Barnum wasn't at that time much bigger than I was. I had a liking for children then, for I was over thirty years younger than I am now.

Well, the point of the whole thing is this. I took the baby from Barnum's arms and held her and trotted her as a child does a baby. I told Mrs. Barnum about this some time after, and we had a jolly laugh over the story. But when I looked at her and saw her size, the story seemed almost an impossibility and I'll be hanged if I could believe what I know to be a fact, for a long time.

I rather think Mrs. Barnum didn't fancy being told she had been held in the lap of a little chap like me, but Barnum enjoyed the story and her discomfiture, and he laughed until the tears ran down his cheeks.